


Everything He Wants

by Blu3sc0rpion, Caidepgun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, BDSM, But Like I Fucking Love Padme But I Wrote this, Dominant Obi-Wan Kenobi, Don't Read If You Like Padmé, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flogging, Infidelity, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rope Bondage, SO, Spanking, Submissive Anakin Skywalker, Verbal Abuse, Voyeurism, Where's The Fucking Logic, bdsm club, caught masturbating, degradation kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24195712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blu3sc0rpion/pseuds/Blu3sc0rpion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caidepgun/pseuds/Caidepgun
Summary: Anakin lives a less than remarkable life. Working as an accountant he finds that his days bleed into one another as people waste their time yelling at him. It doesn’t matter who it is, his boss, co-worker or even his wife. Coming home to a wilted version of his once loving wife wouldn’t be bad if it wasn’t for the constant arguments and screams and her blaming him for her failures and inhibitions doesn’t exactly boost his morale. Surely enough, Anakin finds himself desperate for any kind of escape but sadly there is none. With his wife no longer paying attention to his needs and going so far as to shame him when he does, Anakin finds himself stuck in a Hellhole with no way out.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 83





	Everything He Wants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's work leads him go a place he would rather not know the existence of.

"You're always like this!" Padme accuses. Anakin can barely think straight after the day he's had. His mind is still stuck inside the office and his wife's incessant nagging threatens to push him over the edge into a blind rage but he restrains himself. At least one of them has to be mature about this.

The twins are screaming in the other room, either hungry or in need of changing if not both. Padme stares at him, her dark eyes brooding and wounded. Anakin thinks of what he could possibly have done to offend her so badly.

_ Nothing- absolutely nothing _ , he thinks. She's been this way ever since Luke and Leia were born. Inside he wonders if all the joy and warmth she ever possessed left her the moment their children left the womb. She was hollow now, and so  _ damningly _ cold.

"Aren't you even going to  _ answer  _ me?!" Padme shrieks, on the verge of tears, her eyes a rabid red from the lack of sleep making the purple bags sink into a horrid black under her eyes.

"What the fuck do you want me to say, Padme?" Anakin shouts back, feeling the few strands of fraying temper snap under the weight of what feels ten thousand worlds.

"All you do is go to work, come home, eat, and sleep. You don't even  _ fuck  _ me anymore!!" She screams, the children screaming even louder from the next room.

"You'd be the one to talk about that,  _ wouldn't you _ ." He feels a heat developing in his chest as he spits out a whisper, trying to calm himself but failing. "You haven't let me touch you in  _ months. _ "

The words roll off his tongue, bitter with defeat. He can't even scream as he says them. He loves her, truly he does, but the Padme he knew had been gone for a long time now, leaving only the bitter shrew that stood before him now- an all consuming black husk draining him of any self satisfaction.

"You're  _ sick _ , Anakin," Padme snarls, her tiny hands balling up into fists and shaking at her sides. A thin gloss of tears well in her eyes-  _ theatrical  _ or  _ genuine _ , he can’t really tell. 

Anakin feels his jaw clench and tighten as he grinds his teeth. He doesn't hate her- he can't possibly hate her- _ can he? _

Once he bared his most secret wants to this woman, things that he didn't think he would ever admit to anyone. At a time her arms were his safe haven. Now it was only a broken, bitter place where the only thing he can feel is resentment and heartache.

"I'm  _ sick _ ?" Anakin's eyes narrow and sting as his vision blurs.

He could never forget the look of disgust in her eyes when he told her the things he thought he would never be able to ask for. She never looked at him quite the same after that.

" _ You're sick!" _ Anakin cries. "You get off on torturing me and taunting me every chance you get!" 

His throat aches, he feels tension there as he holds back all the things he might say but knows he shouldn't. Things that might as well be left unsaid. She knows them and he does too so there isn’t a need to say any of them,  _ really _ .

"You're so selfish Ani," Padme sneers, twisting the once loving nickname in a rueful way as she had so many times before. The only time she ever called him  _ that  _ any more was when she wanted to gloat, wanted to rub his face in the mud, and make him feel as terrible as she possibly could. He felt it was all she did anymore.  _ Why did she hate him so much? _

"You don't care about  _ us _ . Not me- not Luke and Leia-" she growls.

Those words break the last strand of self-control he possesses. He feels his soul run through, his chest burning as his flesh vibrates with anger. Is he shaking? He can’t really tell but he needs to do something-  _ anything _ .  _ No _ , he looks at Padme, who’s face only contorts into a spiteful frown. Her eyes narrow as she sees him on the brink of losing control _. She loves it _ . His heart slams against his ribs, he needs something to just- and in an instant, when he hears her scoff, he feels his soul bleed and wither. Filled with rage his fist finds the wall and punches a hole straight through. His lips are curled in a deep scowl as his chest heaves.

He looks at Padme as she cowers in the doorway, suddenly lost of all gratification she held for the  _ idea  _ of him losing his temper. Fear painted over her eyes- or was it  _ satisfaction-  _ he wasn’t sure if he could really tell. Just as always, shame grips him. He was better than this, he knew he was. 

" _ I-I'm sorry," _ Anakin stammers. Instantly flooded with remorse he reaches a hand towards her that she quickly flinches away from. Disgusted by his wife-  _ by himself,  _ Anakin marches past their screaming children to the front door of their apartment and leaves without another word.

His chest feels heavy with every stomp- it's as if there's a rock stuck in his gut, bouncing with every step he takes. Each movement inching it closer and closer to his throat- threatening to suffocate him with remorse and guilt. That burning rage in his chest translates onto his skin- he feels his cheeks and ears as they fume a bright scarlet that only worsens as he walks down the street.

The moonlight bathes Coruscant in a tamed lividity as he marches down the main street. The gentle ambiance of cars and city nightlife eases his nerves a fraction, as much as he can be helped at all. There is no true  _ easing  _ for him- not with this burden that he carries. 

With his head low he walks on the sidewalk with the confidence of a wounded animal- stripped of his pompousness he looks both ways before he sprints across the street and onto the opposite sidewalk. 

_ He shouldn't have looked… _ He didn't even care if he was run over, and to be completely honest, a part of him wants to end it. Not his life, of course, just  _ this _ .

He shuffles through his jacket as his stride quickens. He feels an anxious tick and his mouth twitches as he nervously bites his lower lip hard until it aches. There’s a slight reprieve when his hand finds the familiar box hidden away in his coat pocket. It always takes him longer to find it than it should. 

No longer coated in the horrid dull luminescence of the moon, now a cheery neon pink glow, that’s cast out by the hideous holo marketing displays, covers everything in sight.

Anakin brushes off the lid of the box in his hands and shakes a cigarette out and onto his lip. His heart aches. He’s totally grief-stricken by his actions- not that it counts for anything, he thinks bitterly. He knew it wouldn’t mean anything to Padme. 

Defeated, he throws himself onto the nearest bench. Bringing his lighter to his face he flicks it, cupping the flame, drawing short puffs till the cherry glows a hot red. The low rumble of burning tobacco peppers the air around him- a piously bitter taste rushing on his tongue, calming him. It is a soothing ritual. 

Anakin leans back as he watches cars pass.

He hates this. Hallowing his cheek, he takes a long drag. He feels the familiar hot burning sensation of smog filling his insides. It's a meditative agony- a pain that grounds him, keeps him tied to reality.

He throws his head back to look at the stars.  _ She was so beautiful. _ Not that she wasn't beautiful.  _ Fuck-  _ Padme was, and still is, gorgeous.

He brings his hand to his nose- massaging the bridge with his index and thumb, he exhales loudly. Defeated, Anakin tries to step back and assess the situation.  _ What happened? What did he do to deserve this? _ The bitter taste of nostalgia flutters in his lungs as he reminisces. They were happy once before he  _ ‘knocked’  _ her up- a term she would  _ often  _ use to put him down whenever the twins did anything mildly inconvenient. 

_ ‘This wouldn’t be happening if you hadn’t knocked me up! _ ’

Really, she was so petty sometimes, and at the most inappropriate of times!  _ No-  _ it’s not an appropriate time to blame him when the twins are screaming in the next room.  _ No-  _ it’s not the time to remind him he’s a  _ sick  _ person. He grimaces at the memory of her horrified look- the way her hand covered her wide mouth. How she shook her head in denial. How she threw away all the damn ties he had!

‘ _ It's a safety issue, Ani! You could die doing that!’ _

Her voice rings miserably in his ears and he draws in more smoke. At least he still had his shoelaces but the fabric was too coarse around his neck. It detracted from the experience…

Groaning, Anakin lowers his head- ashamed but unabashed about his  _ sick  _ tendencies. Maybe his wife was right. He isn't normal. He shouldn't have thought... well,  _ those  _ kinds of thoughts, but he just can't help it. The night spins around as smoke fills his lungs, depriving him of oxygen- a sensation he's come to be hopelessly addicted to. He should at least try to be normal.

_ For his wife… _

| | | 

Anakin sighs, pulling his hand over his face in defeat as he stares blankly at his computer screen. The cup of coffee he holds in his hand has long gone cold. He's totally exhausted having barely slept the night before and to make things even better he was almost an hour late to work- as if his boss needed another reason to hate him. He's in agony- yearning for another cigarette but he can't justify taking a break so soon when he showed up late in the first place. He feels his fingers burning- he'd do anything for a drink, a hit of whatever he could get to take his mind off of his miserable existence.

Mindlessly he adjusts his tie- one of the few he keeps at the office without Padme's knowledge.  _ It's unprofessional to not wear one _ , he tried to bargain with her when she threw out all of the ones he had at home. Of course there was no reasoning with that woman. There was no talking her into- or out of-  _ anything _ .

He only felt  _ slightly  _ bad for buying them behind her back, but the guilt quickly faded as her treatment of him became worse. His eyes scan over numbers and tables in an attempt to make meaning of them. He is capable but his mind isn't in it- it is somewhere else- intently focusing on the sensation of silk under his fingertips, feeling the folds and smooth weave of the deceptively strong fabric. 

It is difficult to not feel aroused. The stimulus coaxes an automatic response in him at this point. Anakin gets up from his desk quickly, making his way to the bathroom before his arousal becomes embarrassingly noticeable to those who might watch him pass by. He finds the stall furthest from the door and takes it. Through the rather large cracks between the stalls he is able to confirm that he's alone. Though at the moment he is so consumed by his need to get off that he doesn't think he'd wait even if there was.

He slams the stall door behind himself and sits, quickly undoing the closure on his trousers. His cock is insufferably hard and the tie around his neck is stifling, encouraging him. His heart slams against his ribs and it's almost pathetic how much of a rush he feels from the thought of jacking off in a bathroom stall at work.  _ Really  _ he is just itching for the dopamine rush- he doesn't care how he gets it- spice, drink, sex, or  _ this _ .

His hand cinches the smooth silk tie tighter around his neck and the other fists around his throbbing length, producing quick, deliberate strokes. His senses dim and his head feels heavy as he works himself, keeping a careful hand on the tie to tighten or relent as he needs.

He throws his head back, closing his eyes. Once upon a time he might have fantasized about his wife but he doesn't dare go near the thought- it would completely ruin the moment. He feels a desperate emptiness in his chest as he realizes there's a total void where he might imagine anything-  _ anyone _ . Instead he chases release, pulling tighter on the sturdy silk that circles his neck, asphyxiating him.

Being so deprived it doesn't take long to bring himself to the edge. He feels himself slick with precum, and only thinks for a fleeting moment that he hadn't brought any paper towels in with him to clean up after. Nothing really matters right now aside from the promise of release and the temporary numbness to his own pitiful woes after the fact.

He's dizzy, he should let up on the choke but he doesn't, pulling trembling shallow breaths into his lungs as he comes closer-

He's slightly aware of the sharp strangled cry that leaves his lips, but the guttural laughter he hears after sends a flood of shock through him that somehow pushes him right over the edge.

His eyes fly open and he sees that he's no longer alone- Vos stands on the other side of the door, still laughing. Still numb from shock Anakin cums hard, covering his hand, smearing on his trousers and the dirty bathroom floor below.

"In the dog house?" Vos laughs.

"What?" Anakin asks, floundering for toilet paper to clean himself up and fix his clothes, loosening the tie from his neck. Between the rush of blood to his head, shock, and orgasm, he feels slightly nauseous.

"The wife- not on her good side are you?" He amends, still laughing.

"Fuck you Vos," Anakin says shakily. He wants to strangle the man, even if he was the only person in the whole office he could actually get along with.

"No, but thanks for the offer," Vos says, the smile audible in his voice.

"I just came looking for you- Sheev called and he needs his books done up today for the audit."

"Alright, alright, fine I’ll finish it today," Anakin huffed. He wanted to wait for Vos to go away to leave but clearly Vos had no intention of leaving so soon.

The man was always insufferable. It was part of the reason he and Anakin got along so well. Reluctantly Anakin leaves the stall giving the man a bitter glance as he goes to wash his hands. 

"Really though Anakin, I talked to him myself and he needs them done today," Vos said, easily switching to business topics without so much as blinking.

"I heard you the first time. What are you, my boss?" Anakin says, rolling his eyes.

"No but if I was you'd be in a world of trouble with what I just witnessed," Vos jabs, his shit-eating grin raking on Anakin's nerves.

"Would you just fuck off?"

"Alright alright, fine, sorry," Vos relents.

Anakin turns to leave the bathroom and Quinlan follows after him. "So are we on for a drink after work tonight?"

"What?"

"It's Friday. We always grab a beer after work on Friday," the man states, his face stale and his words hint at possible offense.

" _ Oh- _ fine, whatever," Anakin waves his hand, still frustrated and hopelessly embarrassed.

"Don't forget it's your turn to buy," Vos calls as their paths separate, both of them headed to their desks at opposite ends of the office.

"I got you  _ drunk  _ last week, that shit was expensive. You  _ owe  _ me."

  
  
  


Anakin suppresses a groan and chooses not to reply as he plops down at his desk, significantly more stressed than when he left. He sighs, burying his head in his hands as he glances down, the remnants of cum stains still dry on his pants, staring up at him accusingly.

Sheev Palpatine was an older gentleman, one very self-indulgent old man. Most of his expenses were spent on luxuries Anakin could only dream of. Questionable investments and all, the old man had money to burn and then some. It was a frill he longed to have- knowing that he had that much money, he won't have to worry about Padme fucking him over.  _ Really _ , he should have followed his mother's advice.

_ 'Get a prenup, you never know what may happen in the future _ .' Shmi's honeyed voice buzzes in his head. He should have listened to his mother. He shouldn't have been stupid, but...stupidity was a proud trait in the Skywalker bloodline. That and odd premonitions... 

That glint in his mother's eyes when he first introduced his wife to her. How Shmi sipped her water and nearly gagged when Anakin brought Padme over and proclaimed this stranger as his spouse almost killed her.

He sighs remembering how horrified his mother was, and she was, rightfully so. He spends a weekend in Vegas- and he comes home with a vice- a married man on the cusp of youth. A very deceptively beautiful vice, but a vice no less. One Padme Amidala, a righteous bitch with an admirable drive for arguing.

_ God _ , he was so stupid and still is. Anakin stares down at the numbers of the page- they float into his head and straight out. He can't concentrate. Taking a deep inhale, Anakin adjusts himself and begins to mark anything of significance.

Once he snaps into attention, his eyes scan the pages with ease. Double-checking some odd expenses here and there he flips back and forth between the paper and computer screen, marking up anything that raises suspicions to confirm its validity with the computer. It's a mindless and grueling process, but reading the brief explanations from Sheev always made his time worthwhile. The old man had a habit of leaving cute notes for Anakin so the troublesome task wasn't completely unbearable- which to his surprise, wasn't. Like smoking, this too was an odd mediative tick. A tick that rakes in money, a significant amount of it to be completely honest. Money that Padme would take because he didn't sign the fucking prenup like his mother said!

He lets his jaw hang slack as he expels a strangled chuckle- _ this is fine, everything is fine _ . He grips his thighs- palming the muscle, he feels the awkward, dried up, sandy texture of cum on his pants. He nearly gags on his own tongue as he scraps it off the fabric with his fingernails. With erratic and desperate scratches he tries to scrub away his guilt but it's all for naught. The semen firmly fixed itself onto the weave of his pants and he sighs in defeat. He doesn’t even have a change of pants at the office. He’ll be stuck wearing these  _ all day.  _

This is his life, after all. If anything went seamlessly he might have to pinch himself just to check and see if he’s dreaming. 

Anxious, Anakin begins to distract himself. Burying his nose in his work, he tries to keep his mind off his personal life. Anything to get his mind of the crippling gravity of his situation.

He flips the page and skims over the fresh table of numbers. His eyes widen- hurting the sockets. He rubs them to lessen the sting but the sudden stretch has proven too much. He blinks a couple of times to adjust his vision.

_ Yes _ , that's the right amount. He frowns. _ Thirty-four thousand two hundred sixty-nine fucking dollars! _ His face contorts into a mixture of awe, shock and then confusion. _ Sheev's in debt? From what? _ Anakin runs his finger to the line where the amount was boxed in- dragging his finger across the paper he pauses. There's nothing, no description, no name, no cute note entailing this ungodly amount of money. Only an address and the monthly interest rate, 42%. 

His heart drops to the bottom of his stomach- a cold chill seeps from under his ribs and onto his torso. He lunges for the calculator on his desk and punches in the digits. All color drains from his face as he stares at the dimly lit black text. He shrinks his chin to his neck in disgust, lifts his brows and squints at the amount once more.

"Fuck Sheev. What happened?" Anakin coughs into his hand- grimacing he reaches out for the phone on his desk. He needs answers and hopefully Palpatine has them.

There's a weird transition period as the line rings, he reclines back on his chair as he waits. 

"Hello?" 

"Ah. Yes, Hello. Sheev," Anakin cradles the phone on his shoulder as he grabs the paper and scrolls up his mouse to look at Sheev's finances, "I am looking at your spendings and there's an unpaid debt with an alarmingly high-interest rate."

"Can you confirm the transaction on May fourth to uh..." Anakin grinds his teeth as he realizes there isn't a name, "at 19747 Stewjon Ave?"

"Pardon?" Sheev's rusted voice pierces his ear.

"Uh, 19747 Stewjon--"

"Join me for dinner." The man chuckles- brushing over Anakin's concern.

" _ Wha- _ I'm sorry sir, what?" His voice fades away into confusion. Sheev was an odd man- somewhat unhinged, but...

"Be here at seven. Don't be late." 

The line drones on long after Palpatine hangs up. Still cradling the phone on his shoulder, Anakin tenses up. 

_ Padme is going to kill me. _

The rest was a blur; occasional glances from Vos here and there, all manipulative gestures made to get a reaction out of him- imitating Anakin in the restroom stall, facial expressions and all. Rolling his eyes Anakin tries to ignore Quinlan hastily jacking the air in front of him as he pretends to choke himself. Faking ecstasy, Vos spasms in his seat before he sticks his tongue out and taunts him by mouthing, 'Padme' for his faked orgasm.

That man truly has no shame, Anakin thinks. Every office has a clown, and Vos is theirs. If only his jokes weren’t at his own expense he might find them funny. 

Frowning, Anakin stares at the clock hand- slowly ticking, dawning closer and closer to six. It's a grueling pace, his eyes absentmindedly follow the hand with every subtle shift. _ 45, 46, 47, 48. Ugh, why do seconds go by so slow!?' _

"Dex's?" Vos nicks the back of his head- making Anakin flinch from the sudden contact.

"Dex's, why?" He turns his chair to look at the man standing. 

"Drinks." 

Anakin grimaces, "I can't,"  _ not that I want to…  _ “Sheev called me.” He peeks over to the clock on the wall. _ Almost six. _

"That old man always calls you." Vos crosses his arms on his chest and cocks his hip out and pouts, "Can't you brush your sugar daddy off this once- _ for me? _ " He sounds almost hurt.

"He's not-" Anakin stops himself, knowing better than to indulge Quinlan's antics; this was just another ploy to get him to waste time and he can't keep Sheev waiting. It's his best client and that'd be rude, "Sorry Quin, I can't. Maybe next week?"

"Next week is your week." Vos' mood brightens as he points a finger at him.

"I'm not paying for you, " Anakin slides his chair in after he stands. 

"Com'on, you've been blue balling me all month." Quinlan follows him through the office. Anakin eyes him before giving Vos a disgusted look, "And you should know the feeling." He jabs Anakin's side with his elbow.

"Bye Vos." Annoyed, Anakin bolts into the elevator and smashes a bottom.

"You're paying though!" He interjects at the last moment.

Anakin rolls his eyes, "Fine."

Palpatine was a needy, prudish man. Pampered to the very core, down to his articulate and refined temper tantrums and all.  _ Really _ , the man was a baby trapped in an old man's wrinkly dried up body. Anakin gazes at the ivory and marble paved wall of the Sheev's estate. It's the tallest building in the city- compensating for Palpatine's flaccid state. He loosens his shoulders and adjusts his tie. The silken fabric makes him even more anxious although for different reasons. Anakin waves- a childish and sloppy gesture as he greets the guard before he knocks on the door.

As if on queue he hears the unlatching of locks behind the wooden entry. Sheev was also paranoid- alarmingly so, the old man had tons and tons of locks and not to mention the countless hidden weapons littered through the entire tower. It nearly gave Anakin a heart attack when Sheev pulled out a revolver out of thin air and pointed it at the door- ' _ They're here for me!'  _ He remembers Sheev's shrill voice screaming at practically nothing, as he flailed his arms around like manic. He remembers the level of indescribable anxiety he felt as he tried to calm the man down, eventually easing him into giving up the gun to only then pull out another one from under the floorboards. He was a  _ unique  _ old man. 

Anakin thins his lips as he remembers. To this day Palpatine won't tell him what warrants so many arms in his homes and to be completely honest he would rather not know. The door swings open and Sheev comes waddling out. 

Adorned with a tacky scarlet robe, striped pajamas, and horribly fluffy slippers, "Thank the heavens you're here." He drags Anakin by the tie and pulls him inside.

They stumble inside and Anakin scans the place. It's still as it was the last time he was there. Even all the ghastly fashion choices. Sheev guides him to the couch- one might call the settee luxurious if it wasn't a gaggingly boorish red. He lifts a brow at the suitcase on the coffee table. 

"The money is in there." 

Sheev walks into another room then back- carrying wads of cash in his arms before he throws it right onto Anakin’s lap. "Now, count them." 

" _ Wha-what _ ?" Anakin's hands float over his lap- not daring to touch the credits on his thighs.

"Yes." Sheev scrambles to the kitchen and begins to prepare a drink for himself. His wrinkled smile sends goosebumps down Anakin's arms. " _ Oh _ , why excuse me!" He cackles, "Anakin, would you like a drink?"

Anakin creases his forehead and nods, "Please," _ I'm going to need more than a drink.  _ He pats away a few of the credits on his lap, "Is this for the  _ uh _ , the-"

"My debt from the Binary," Sheev says, prancing around the couch with the grace of an injured swan before handing Anakin a glass.

"Pardon? The what?" Anakin takes the drink.

"I had completely forgotten about it." Sheev sits beside him, one leg draped over the other. "It's a good thing you called when you did or else I would have  _ never  _ been allowed back," he chuckles into the glass.

"This is for the debt?" Anakin clarifies, "Why isn't the place listed?"

Sheev brings a hand to his chest and scowls, "Such places are not to be easily discussed."

"Such places?" Anakin's brows are knitted as he repeats. Taking a swig of the liquor in his hand- the burning sensation in his throat calms him.

"You'll see once you deliver it." Sheev casually demands.

" _ Oh no _ , I can't do that sir." Anakin refutes.

He feels Palpatine's hands slap on his bicep, "I will pay you handsomely," The billionaire winks- a gag inducing display.

"Sir," Anakin's resolve weakens as the credits on his lap become increasingly heavy- which shouldn't be possible but somehow they are. Nervous Anakin retracts his arm from the old man's grip. He scoots away, credits sliding and clinking off his lap, onto the couch and floor. "I can't."

" _ Oh _ \- but you must boy," Palpatine scoots closer to him- inching into Anakin's personal space, a concept that seems to elude him. "There isn't another I trust more."

With the billionaire's breath hot on his nose, Anakin leans back, "Sir, I really shouldn't."

Sheev lowers his head in defeat- staring at the accountant's lap he takes his hands and gathers the credits. His eyes snap wide as he's met with the stains- a coy smirk appears on his lips, he then quickly shoves more credits into Anakin's thighs, covering the shameful stains. "You and I are very much alike Anakin and that is why I implore you. You must go!"

"Sheev..." Anakin's plea is unconvincing.

| | | 

_ 'My chauffeur will take you. Once there, please be mindful of your manners the owner is very particular when spoken to.' _ Anakin hears Sheev's voice as he stares down into the descending stairway. It's a narrow path lit by flickering neon lights. He walks down the flight of stairs- stickers and graffiti litter the walls catching the neon glow with vibrant pops of color. The doorway is thin, a flimsy metallic painted an ugly blasphemous red. It’s not as tacky as Sheev’s tower but it takes a firm second. 

Anakin stands in front of it. A tobacco laced floral scent seeps from under the frame- coating the surrounding air with a faint musk. Palming the cold surface, he opens it.

Much to Anakin’s surprise the interior isn’t god awful like the entryway would have suggested. It’s a dimly lit room, scarlet lights as red as sin highlight the ceiling and walls. Couches and settees are scattered throughout the lounge. The black leather upholstery is intrinsically inviting. A staircase leads up to a second level that looks as dark as the shadows that pervade the space. 

There’s an energy in the air- he can almost taste it on his tongue. It’s intoxicatingly rich, and married with the smoke and flowery notes, it’s nothing short of  _ perfection _ . What an odd thought, to find such a dark and strange place so inviting. 

What had Sheev told him? 

_ Such places are… not to be easily discussed… _

The scope of that statement begins to make sense to him now, and he feels the strange premonition that he has gotten himself into a world of trouble just by stepping through the door.

His feet move on their own as he starts to wonder the platform. Drawing his attention to the walls, Anakin gawks at the paintings and murals of deformed creatures. It’s an odd display but he finds himself no less interested by the curious depiction of sexual interaction the beings are participating in.

"Excuse me." He feels a light touch on his shoulder- almost flinching, Anakin turns around to meet the gaze of a beautiful woman. The golden and silver woven chain on her shoulder compliments her soft coffee skin. She wears a modest pencil skirt and oversized nylon sweater.

" _ Oh _ , hello," Anakin starts, reminding himself of his purpose here to begin with. "I'm here to make a payment on behalf of a client of mine- Sheev Palpatine?" He says, gripping the case of credits he holds at his side.

"Sheev Palpatine." She eyes the case then walks over to the large desk at a corner of the lounge. "I see." Her face sterns with indifference as she scrolls down with the mouse, she stands again and guides Anakin to a large set of twin doors, "Follow me."

Anakin follows as instructed, taken aback by the wooden carvings in the rich ebony as he passes through. He vaguely makes out a handful of- what some might call obscene- sexual acts depicted there.

The doorway births them to a large, dark corridor lined with cages on both sides, and what he sees far surpasses the paintings and carvings by sheer captivation alone. Anakin looks twice when he notices that each one is occupied by a guest- each one tied up in a different fashion, all in strong, black silk ropes. Some are hanging, suspended above the plush mattresses below. Others wait in stocks, bound with legs spread. There are too many poses to appreciate in such little time, and Anakin finds himself wishing he had more time.

“This way,” the woman says, and Anakin wonders if she caught him gawking. The hint of amusement in her voice suggests it.

They make their way down the hall and Anakin notices the doors that line either side are lit with dim colored lights, beginning with red and descending all the way to purple at the very end. He wonders if the rainbow of color they walk through lends credence to the many things that must take place here- if the number of dark acts far out numbers the number of shaded lights that illuminate the place.

He suspects it is so.

At the end of the hall is a door- nondescript as all the others. The woman knocks and announces, "Master Sheev's payment has arrived."

Still dazed, Anakin takes a moment to realize the woman addressed Palpatine as ‘ _ Master _ .’

_ What the fuck? _

The door clicks open. The woman bows her head to greet the man. He curls his lips into a smile as he looks at her then at Anakin- with his warm tranquil expression, "Thank you, Gallia. You may leave us." She turns her heel and leaves Anakin. The man opens the door for him and ushers him in.

Frantically rubbing a cloth on his hands- wiping every digit on his left hand with care, the man steps aside for Anakin to enter. "Please take a seat." He gestures at a chair in front of his desk.

Anakin enters, somewhat wary of the man that invites him in. There's an air of confidence to him told in the broadness of his chest and the way his long gray hair falls over his shoulders that spikes something in the animal part of his mind. In no way in particular- this man holds a commanding presence that Anakin is not immune to, and he suspects no one is.

Anakin's eyes scan over the room, seeing a large screen on the man's desk in the otherwise empty room. A small bottle sits near to it- impossible to mistake for anything else. A bottle of cherry flavored lube stares back at him, and suddenly Anakin becomes more aware of how thoroughly the man wiped at his hands. The scent of sweet fruit and musk lingers in the room and Anakin doesn't have to guess at what the man was doing only moments before.

The man circles the table before taking a seat, "I'm assuming the money is in the case."

"Y-yes," Anakin stammers, thoroughly distracted by the bottle of lube that seems to stare at him harder as the moment drags on.

Anakin picks up the case and puts it on the man's desk, sliding it over to him. "All the money my client owes to your... establishment... is accounted for. He wanted me to apologize on his behalf for such a late payment."

The man glances at the case then at Anakin. Clearly more captivated by the young man in front of him than the money, "It's unlike the Master to not personally see to it that his debt is paid for."

"Well then I must apologize on his behalf as well," Anakin mustered, trying to ignore the fact that Sheev practically begged him to go himself under the soppy pretense that they were more alike than he thought, whatever that was supposed to mean.

But curiosity was biting him, and he had to give chase. 

" _ Sir- _ If I may ask," Anakin began, remembering to address him respectfully, per Sheev's advice.

"You may," the gray haired man smiled back at him, clearly entertained.

"What exactly is the nature of my client's dealings with your establishment?"

Before the words even left him, Anakin knew it was improper to ask. Judging by the expression on the man's face, he knew it as well.

After letting out a  _ tisk  _ the man spoke. 

"I think you can appreciate, Mr...?"

"Skywalker. Anakin Skywalker."

"I think you can appreciate, Mr. Skywalker, that I run a private establishment. The activities of its patrons are strictly confidential. I'm sure you understand."

Anakin blushed, slightly embarrassed for asking such an unprofessional question. He knew better, but he couldn't help himself. Another nagging curiosity burned in his mind.

"I do understand that, Mr..?"

The man chuckles as he slides the briefcase closer to him, he extends his hand- in a friendly manner and awaits Anakin's, "Qui-Gon Jinn, but everyone refers to me as Jinn."

Anakin hesitates, desperately wanting to evade the handshake but he finds himself unable to decline. Sheev warned him to be polite, and rejecting the man's handshake was the exact opposite of that. Anakin reaches across and grips the man's hand, feeling his bones nearly crushed by Jinn’s fingers squeezing around his own. 

"Jinn," Anakin nods, waiting for the man to release his hand to withdraw. He's this deep in now, there was no point in offending him and wasting the sacrifice he's already made. As Anakin is finally released he notices that his hand has come away damp- and now he has to resist the urge to wipe his hand out of sheer disgust.

"If you could answer another question then..." Anakin starts, unsure how to word the next question politely. "This is a sex club, right?" He asks, the dampness on his hand drying and leaving a stiff residue.

Jinn laughs, his shoulders bob up and down as his hand comes to his chest to calm himself of his amusement, "Mr. Skywalker. Prostitution is illegal in this country. My establishment doesn't cater to such primal needs." He composes himself before clicking the case open. His smile widens as he's met with credits.

Anakin feels childish, but his confusion is more demanding than his sense of shame. He's lost the ability to feel shame over the years- _ perhaps a gift from his lovely wife. _

"What does your establishment cater to, Mr. Jinn?" Anakin asks, needing to know without understanding why.

"The services we provide cater to our clients, meeting their most longed desires. Something of a taboo subject in society, if you will- they are shamed and ridiculed but here," Jinn taps a finger on his desk, "here, they can find their truest self and indulge. We simply enable them to experience what they’ve only dreamt of."

Anakin's mind goes blank as the words hit a little too close for comfort. Padme's snarling, biting comments and constant shaming comes to a head inside of him and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry- so he does neither.

" _ Oh _ ," he says emptily, it's all he can muster. Suddenly he doesn't even care about the uncomfortable stiffness on his palm, any and all aversion seems a world away.

He's helplessly fascinated but doesn't allow himself to truly acknowledge it. He shouldn't be here, he should have never given in to Sheev's incessant begging. When he goes home Padme will smell the smoke on him and accuse him of the typical laundry list of offenses. But this time he might actually feel guilty. Standing in this place now feels wrong because it feels so right. But no- he won't accept it. He can't possibly feel intrigued.

"Well, you've got my client's payment, so I'll just be on my way, then," Anakin says, suddenly in a hurry to leave.

Jinn hums in acknowledgment, "Sheev is a very good customer of mine." He pries his gaze from the money to Anakin. Despite trying to appear otherwise, the boy is practically drooling over the prospect of his establishment. Intrigued, Jinn closes the case and places it under his desk, he leans over, both elbows on the wooden surface and with his fingers tightly clasped he grins- a wide, toothy, predatory smile, 

"He must think highly of you." He scans Anakin, a light glaze of sweat coats his forehead as he stares starry-eyed back at him. "Tell me, Mr. Skywalker. Why do you think Master Sheev sent you here?"

"Because of his outstanding debt, Mr. Jinn," Anakin answers cleanly, as businesslike as he can manage.

"Why else?"

Jinn still smiles, "Our establishment is very difficult to find. Mr. Skywalker, not everyone knows of our location, much less our practices." He leans back on his chair- relaxing into the leather, "Only through word of mouth can we truly thrive. Our clients tell others."

Anakin smiles back in good humor. "Well that may be true, but I'm only here on my client's behalf. Consider me an extension of his presence."

While keeping a relatively calm exterior, Anakin feels himself panic. He feels like this entire place is a trap- a set up- and from any corner Padme might spring out and accuse him of being  _ sick  _ and tell him how she was right all along and that she should have never had his children. Should have never married him, how she hates all his twisted proclivities- all the things that are so much a part of him that he knows he was born with them- as much as someone is born with a sweet tooth or born predisposed to alcoholism. But his wants shouldn't be a bad thing- they aren't hurting anyone, he reasons with himself as his wife screams at him from his subconscious mind.

He wants to deny himself, just like he does every day of every week of every month of every year. He wants to keep slaving away to try to please the wife that will never be pleased until the day he dies.

But does he? Does he  _ really _ want those things?

"You know, Mr. Skywalker." Jinn's poised demeanor almost uncaringly relaxes as he reclines into his chair, "Denial is a dangerous thing." His finger dances near the bottle of lube, "When repressed, it can cause people to," He knocks the bottle over with his index finger, "break."

Anakin feels Jinn's eyes burn through him. He knows the man sees something inside him that not even he fully realizes himself.

Honestly, it frightens him.

Anakin's eyes are drawn to the small bottle and the cherry flavored puddle it dispenses as it lays on its side. He feels his pulse quicken, like he's just been accused of a crime that he's actually committed. He wants to think of some witty remark, some professional rebuttal to the man's accusation- but he can't.  _ God damn it- _ why does this man seem to see right through him?

"As I have stated, we tend to gain new clients from patron referrals. I do suspect that Master Sheev did send you here in order to initiate your welcoming." Jinn brushes a loose strand of hair past his ear, "It's alright for you to be nervous, Mr. Skywalker. Our new client's usually are," He surveys the desk and reaches out for a stack of business cards. 

"I don't usually do this but since you are a friend of Sheev's." He scribbles down something on the card before he hands it to Anakin- lifting a brow, Jinn beckons him, "Everyone has desires. Mr. Skywalker. What are yours?"

Anakin's mind flooded with a rush of images that he immediately shoved away- as he had done so many other times.

" _ W-what's _ this?" Anakin asks, skimming the card over without really reading it.

"It's a complimentary hour." Jinn brushes it off, "You won't be obligated to pay us, of course, it's just to dip your toe in- you know, survey the waters before you jump in." Jinn cocks his head, "Access to any dominant, and any kind of play your heart desires."

Anakin thinks to hand the card back but doesn't- it feels heavy in his hand and he can't bring himself to give it back- even though he tells himself he won't ever use it. How could he? He's married with two kids for Christ's sake.

"That's  _ uh-  _ generous of you Mr. Jinn. Thank you," Anakin stammers, his face turning redder by the second.

"I can't promise I'll make any use of it, but that's very-  _ uh-  _ generous."

Anakin's stumbling over words like a toddler with their shoelaces tied together, and he feels like he's falling on his face in equal measure.

"Well, all the same, I'll get going. It was nice to meet you Mr. Jinn."

Jinn's smile still persists as Anakin stands, his legs feel like jelly as he stumbles his way to the exit, before he can leave he finds Jinn by his side, the man bows while he opens the door for him, "Try not to stare, some of our clients are shy."

Anakin nods- not fully knowing what that meant, he steps out of Jinn's office, "Have a nice day Mr. Skywalker."

Anakin turns, staring intently at his shoes for a moment before he turns his gaze forward again. Sure, Jinn told him not to stare but now Anakin avoids looking at any of the cages because he doesn't want to think about it- _ none of it.  _ He wants to leave this place and forget it ever existed. Forget the uncomfortable stain on his hand and the sly remarks Jinn made. He wants to erase this entire day from his memory- including the part where Vos caught him jacking off in the bathroom. He wants to go back and restart and do things over, the right way, where he never ends up here in this god-forsaken utopia of sin where he feels more belonging than he's felt in years.

He tries not to look, he tries so desperately hard. But like a child told no, he does exactly what he's not supposed to do.

Three cages ahead as he walks he notices now not just one- but two people inside. One is still tied up like a pretty piece of art and the other- redheaded and covered in freckles- is clad in a leather chest harness and tight black pants that shine under the red light. That man is another work of art all on his own.

The man wields a black leather whip. The sharp snapping sound as it lands against flesh is hypnotic- or is it the man himself that has Anakin so instantly and insatiably distraught?

Small whimpers and cries escape the man bound to a St. Andrew's cross at the far end of the cage, but he tempers himself. Anakin can see the distinct red welts raised on the man's skin from the unrelenting abuse. A small part of his mind wishes it were him the beautiful man were brandishing that whip against, but he pushes that thought out of mind as fast as it appears. So much about this place has him confused- he's tired- he's had a long day at work- a long, bad day. Nothing makes sense. He should go- but he can't stop watching the way the man's muscles flex and ripple as he snaps the whip- harder- then softer- and then harder again.

There's a pause to the violence and Anakin hardly notices- so rapt by watching the art that unfolds in front of him. It doesn't occur to him until the man locks eyes with him- that he's not as inconspicuous as he thinks he is.

Ice blue eyes bore into his own and Anakin feels his heart stop in his chest. He's felt instant attraction before, he knows that's what this is but it still doesn't make any sense. He's not attracted to men- _ is he? _

Those eyes stare at him still, ravenous and so,  _ so  _ demanding. If a picture can speak a thousand words, this man can say twice as much with just a glance. Suddenly Anakin feels naked- pleasantly vulnerable. Greedy eyes scan his form slowly without a trace of shame. He looks- pleased. Eyes narrow and the whip meets with flesh again. If he were any less startled Anakin might have  _ whimpered _ .

The man smiles and cocks his head to the side then coos in a pleasantly arousing tone, "Didn't your mother tell you it's rude to stare?" 

Anakin can hardly breathe, he doesn't know what to say. He might apologize if he weren't so flustered but any composure is far out of reach.

" _ Uh- _ " he starts, and words flee from him. He stares back down at his shoes again and walks rather quickly towards the exit.  _ What a fucking day.  _

| | | 

"You smell like shit." Her nose is wrinkled as she frowns at him, disgusted by his stench- the fume from Jinn's establishment, Anakin closes the door behind him and stares at his wife's contorted expression.

"I was at a Dex's with Vos," he lies.

"At  _ Dex's _ ." She tilts her head, raises her brows and runs her tongue across the top row of her teeth- winding up for a lecture, "Who told you you could go to Dex's?"

And there it was. Anakin stands in the doorway- barracked the better descriptor- until he gives her an answer she’ll be satisfied with. "Sweetie," he tries to soften the blow. Padme's scowl deepens at the endearment.

"I've had a long day." He can't please her. He never can. Remorse is heavy on his tongue- he feels the pressure digging into his temples as his head starts to pulsate.

"You  _ had _ a long day?" She curves her chin, sticks her hip out, and crosses her arms as she glares at him- with a hate-filled glint in her eyes she blocks him in. She wants an answer- a better one or more specifically she wants him to feel miserable- as miserable as her.

"Sweetie," Anakin feels his chest grow heavy with every second. Her gaze tears into him like a knife- stripping him of his dignity. Padme grits her teeth.

" _ You had a long day?" _ She repeats.

He feels the words crush him.  _ Yes _ , technically he did have a long day, a very fucking long day. With the memory of the man still freshly pressed in his mind, Anakin lowers his gaze- unable to meet Padme's, he stares at the floor. It's filthy, littered with dirt and grime- he frowns.  _ Of course _ , Padme didn't clean. It was, after all, below her.

"Padme," His tone is weak, hollow, a wounded whimper of a once pompous roar. He gathers the courage to look her in the eyes- those cold, dead eyes. "Sweetie, I'm sorry."

He didn't know what he was apologizing for.  _ Well _ , there was guilt but there was  _ always _ guilt, yet this  _ felt _ different.  _ This _ . He felt a hot amber ignite in his chest at the memory of the dominant's biceps flexing as he flourished the whip, his back tensing with every slash, how the harness perfectly hugged his torso- accentuating his narrow waist and toned body. 

Anakin's mouth runs dry. The slender build adorned by tight, sleek, black pants. Leather boots. Anakin's mind wanders off into dangerous territory. He breaks eye contact with his wife as he thinks of those leather boots crushing his groin- making him groan as the pain increases, as the dominant binds him by the wrists, makes him kneel and--

"Anakin!"

His fantasy is cut short by Padme's shrilled whisper- being mindful of the twins in the adjacent room she pulls Anakin by the collar and drags him through the apartment and into their bedroom. He catches a glimpse of Leia and Luke sleeping in the nursery as he’s shoved into their bedroom room. 

“I'll be in the kitchen. Shower. I don't want the apartment smelling like cheap perfume and booze." She demands, shutting the door as she leaves. 

This wasn't anything new. Anakin scans the bedroom. It's a large plain space with sparse, bland decor. Its dead grey walls stare back at him with the same level of intensity his piqued wife does. It’s an ugly concrete shade that denies him any level of comfort, sexual or otherwise. 

Anakin lazily undoes the buttons of his shirt. He yearns for the level of comfort that Jinn spoke of- to not be constantly shamed for having unnatural urges.  _ Yes _ , she called the  _ unnatural  _ as if she didn't enjoy them at some point. 

Anakin palms his throat. As if she hadn’t once wrapped her hands around his neck and smothered him. How pleased she was with herself when he unraveled so easily. Crying for more and she did oblige- insults and slaps. He rolls his eyes at the memory. She dares to shame him when she once  _ indulged  _ him.

Acting as if she's all high and mighty. He grits his teeth. He allowed her to touch him- appalled by his past, Anakin shudders as he strips himself of his shirt.

How could he allow such a vile creature to touch him-  _ much less do...that to him? _

His mind ceases it's regretful tangent when he remembers the glowing red walls of the club- his heart rejoices as the snap of a whip loops in his ears. Singing a serenade of leather against skin Anakin’s face burns, replacing the client on the St. Andrew’s cross with himself. His skin welts and reddens as the leather lands against his chest. 

Anakin closes his eyes in hope of shoving the fantasy away but the sensory deprivation only encourages his vision. His wrists and ankles are bound- stretched, naked and exposed, he squirms against his confines. A surge of panicked fervor courses through him as he unbuttons his pants- the cloth becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the picture playing in his head.

His toes curl as he stares at the dominant in front of him. The man's features are extenuated by the glow of the club's red lights. He licks his lips before a sly smirk forms on his face. The soft wrinkles crease into delight and with an insatiable obsessive glint in his eyes, the dominant strolls his way toward Anakin- whip in hand as he sways his hips with every stride. The cold tap of his leather strapped stiletto heels sends pleasant shivers down Anakin's back- leaving him feeling odd, dirty,  _ filthy  _ even. He has to admit, he likes the feeling. 

The man pauses mere inches away from him. Arching a brow he speaks in a honeyed, thick accented chorus,  _ "So Mr. Skywalker. Would you like me to throw you over my lap and spank you?" _ The man traced a finger on the seams of the whip as he brought it to his side and gave the air a slash. 

" _ Or _ ," He cocked his head, defiant and greedy,  _ "Do you want me to keep whipping you?" _

He feels his cock twitch in anticipation. His briefs tighten around his hardening length as he frees himself from his pants. Trying to release some tension Anakin kicks off his trousers, gathers his shirt and walks over to the laundry basket, placing the stench-ridden clothing in the basket and rushes over to the master bathroom. He slams the door behind him. Anxious, he locks himself in and turns on the shower- his erection growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

Taking deep breaths Anakin tries desperately to ignore the fantasy playing in his head. Leaning against the sink he stares at his reflection and winces with disgust. His briefs are damp with precum as he rests his head in his hands, frustrated and defeated. He heaves a whimpered cry-  _ God,  _ why is he like this? 

Anakin stares at the wet spot on his underwear. He shouldn't. Padme would kill him. He's already walking on thin ice as it is and if he were to get caught- a twinge of excitement pulses in his groin. He tries to deny the thrill he feels at the prospect of getting caught- much less seen by another. He shakes the thought away.  _ No _ , this is wrong. He feels his cock throbbing against the fabric.

He closes his eyes- a mistake. He's thrown back into the fabricated delusion- bound to the St. Andrew's cross as the dominant stands before him. Shirtless, a light glaze of sweat glistens on his skin as he stares into Anakin's eyes. 

Flushed and tired from the whipping, Anakin pants as the man brings his hand to Anakin's cock. Cupping his erection the dominant hums, _ "You're a freak _ ." He leans in to bite Anakin's jaw- the words should hurt and shame but he feels nothing but giddy excitement when spoken by another person- anyone other than his wife. 

_ "Getting off on pain." _ He traces a gloved finger on the stride until he reaches the tip- circling the fat head with his index finger, he covers the leaking hole, _ "Such a naught boy. Leaking all over daddy's belongings." _

Anakin drops to the floor of the fresher. Cock in hand he teases the tip like the dominant in his fantasy. Biting down his bottom lip- shivering, he covers the slit with his palm, preventing himself from leaking. His eyes are glued shut as he holds back moans. The dominant still presses the tip of his cock.  _ "Good boy, _ " the man croons, "now," The dominant peppers bites down his neck- lingering on the soft tissue until he reaches Anakin's collarbone.  _ "Have you been good?" _

Anakin enthusiastically nods, "yes," he manages.

The dominant pries his chin toward him, his breath warm on Anakin's lips as he taunts, _ "I don't believe you." _ He steps back, winds the whip and--

Anakin greedily pumps at his slicked girth, moaning into his palm as he covers his mouth. The showers heavy mist surrounds him- blanketing his efforts. His pace quickens, his bicep burns- a pleasant sensation as his rhythmic strokes are replaced with impulsive heaves.

_ "Have you been a good boy? _ " The man's voice rings in his head.

Anakin feels heat pooling in his navel as his orgasm draws near. He fantasizes about the leather on his skin, the man's short, sweet touches encouraging his sobs, the abuses that roll off the dominant’s tongue with such ease-  _ such vigor _ . 

With a full body spasm, Anakin removes his palms from his mouth. He feels a wave of guilt overwhelm his ecstasy as he stares down at his soiled hand. The remorse is quickly washed away when he hears the dominant's voice purr. 

_ "Good boy. _ "

He feels a spark ignite in his chest- a low flickering amber.  _ There _ . In the dead center of his chest, burning into his heart. It drowns out any and all guilt as he looks at the sullied palm once more. Overcome with an urge, he brings the dirtied fingers to his lips and licks his digits clean- allowing the saline taste to ease his nerves. Tasting himself Anakin hears the dominant's voice play in his head over and over and over- repeating that which he longed to hear from the red heads lips-  _ "Good boy _ "


End file.
